


We're Still Going

by jqueen17



Category: Phan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Power Outage, rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:06:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jqueen17/pseuds/jqueen17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Description: A complete and utter drabble fic in response to a rainy day prompt my fam @sarcastic-symbolism on tumblr gave me-thanks for the inspiration to break this writer’s block!:D</p>
<p>Length: 1940 so basically my shortest fic ever lol</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Still Going

**Author's Note:**

> It’s storming here so the weather’s pretty accurate in this one:P I really hope you all like this, and don’t worry, I have a longer fic coming out within the next week:) Let me know what you think!

Dan   
The thundering cracking outside was what originally woke me up, but after I was coherent for all of four seconds I realized the fairy lights on my wall weren't lit up, which furthered my alarm. Everyone knows I'm afraid of the dark above all else, because at least when it's light outside I could see what was creeping. In the dark everything changed.

Lightning exploded in the sky outside, making me jump and flashing my now-ominous room in white for a split second before fading back to black. I looked down at my phone to try and calm myself, but had to fumble around for a moment to find it because the little charging light wasn't on like it should be. Once I had located it and turned it on, three storm warnings were blinking at me. 

Flooding   
High winds may cause damage   
Power outages scattered across the city 

I groaned, hating power outages more than normal people probably did. I tried to go back to sleep, putting a pillow over my head and trying to block out the storm, to little avail. The thunder still shook the flat, one crack being so loud that I actually whimpered, like the little girl I was acting like. The next time the thunder was that loud I stumbled to the door of my room, frantically making my way to Phil's bedroom.

I could hear his snores before I'd even entered the room, since nothing could wake Phil Lester that wasn't a direct force against him. I had to shake him six times before he finally startled awake, rubbing sleep out of his already-blurry vision.

“Phil, wake up. I'm scared.”

Phil made a sound of acknowledgment, grunting before asking, “What's scaring you?”

“The storm,” I answered, shaking again as a clap of thunder rattled the window, where rain was hammering against it relentlessly. Phil sat up, squinting at the window and blinking hard when the lightning flashed.

“Oh, I see. Well, come on,” he gestured, rolling out of bed and pulling me along with him, “I’ll help.”

I smiled, letting him tug me all the way to the kitchen, where he began boiling a pot of water on our thankfully gas stove. I held the torch on my phone up so he could see, and after he put the tea on, followed him into the lounge. I curled up on the couch while he started a fire in the fireplace, which I did not know he knew how to do.

“You're very self-sufficient, you know.”

Phil turned and grinned at my statement, adding a few logs to the fire before coming to curl up next to me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” he asked, his mouth muffled by my shoulder. I leaned into him as I answered.

“Definitely good.”

 

After we had gotten our tea and settled back down, Phil decided that I looked exhausted.

“You need to go back to sleep, bear.”

I shook my head, sipping my tea instead of answering. I didn’t want to sleep-that would entail closing my eyes. Which I fiercely didn’t want to do.

“Please? For me? Just try, I’ll stay awake, even.”

I pursed my lips, considering it. Eventually I smiled, setting my half-drank tea on the coffee table.  
“Only if you tell me a story that will make me happy and distract me from the storm.”

Phil grinned, accepting the challenge. “Deal.”

We got comfortable, Phil stretching out across the sofa and me laying beside him, my head on his chest and his arms around me. His voice was softer than usual, and I knew from the second he began talking that this wasn’t going to be a typical story. And that was to be expected; Phil didn’t do anything ‘typical’. I didn’t even respond to Phil the way I would typically to anyone else; his breath on my neck didn’t bother me one bit.

“Once upon a time there was a boy who wanted to be a weatherman. He wanted to give forecasts to the people who needed them and be able to tell his wife and children all kinds of crazy things about weather phenomena. But he decided weather wasn’t what he wanted to focus his life on, when his luck turned out to not be in a lightning strike, but instead in a cereal box. In the form of a camera. Which he didn’t even know how to work.”

I smiled, liking this ‘story’ already.

“But he somehow stumbled onto YouTube, making himself a channel and somehow becoming kind of popular. The luck was amazing, even better than what he’d planned. But as his subscriber count rose, his loneliness did as well. People didn’t really seem to understand him, now that he had completely changed his life goals and aspirations. It frustrated him, but oh well; at least he had his followers. And among those followers was one special boy, a teenager who was just as lost as he was in life. And even cuter.”

I laughed silently, feeling Phil grin above me. His tone changed, and I realized for the millionth time that Phil Lester was an amazing story teller.

“He and the boy began talking all the time, Skyping each other every day and realizing both of them needed the other in their life. The boy was shy at first, thinking the other thought his awkwardness was annoying and that he was a fail at life in general. But oh, he was wrong. The YouTuber thought the boy was endearing, thought he was funny and cute and what he had always been looking for. He, of course, couldn’t tell the boy that; after all, they hadn’t even met in real life.”

Even though I knew this story by heart, since I had lived it of course, I hung on Phil’s every word, waiting to see what happened like people should while listening to stories.

“So he suggested the boy come meet him, at the train station, so they could finally make their internet friendship a reality. So the boy did, and the YouTuber waited impatiently all day, rain pouring down all around him as he searched the throng of people for the one face that mattered to him. And when he saw it, the round face and the sparkling eyes and the semi-tamed mass of curls and the dimple that appeared as they made eye contact, his heart exploded. And don’t let this story fool you; an exploding heart is no small thing. It’s the opposite of a shattered heart; it’s warm and so full of love that it hurts, but in a very, very good way. As the two friends embraced for the first time, they realized that their futures were now intertwined, no matter what. And they were okay with that.”

I felt like crying, because the English major in Phil came out as he spoke, engrossing me in this love story that I never knew our lives were. It made me so happy, the obvious fact that he felt this way and the way he decided to describe how he felt.

“So the two friends began visiting each other more and more, and while one had a YouTube channel and the other started uni, they always put each other first. Even when the older one wanted to delete his channel, and the younger had to assure him it was perfect. That he was perfect, although the older one thought that was silly. Even when the younger boy felt like his life wasn’t worth living, and the older one had to convince him every day that he was loved, that his future wasn’t set in stone yet, that anything was possible. And the younger boy finally quit uni, and somehow fate was on their side and they moved into a flat together and the younger boy started his own channel, with some prompting from the older, and life was okay for the first time in a long time for either.

Phil paused, and I wondered if he was getting emotional as well. I sure was.

“But things happen, and words are said, and everything that goes up must come down at one point, at least. The boys wasted an entire year, having hurt feelings and strong reactions to things being said about them and their channels, and both went to very dark, lonely places for that unending year. But however bad things may have gotten, they had nowhere to go but up. So the boys fixed what was broken and built upon their mistakes, growing closer and falling deeper and deeper in love. Because neither had fallen out of love, of course; nothing could make that happen. A few years passed, two years of skyrocketing follower counts and successes and even a radio show they could both be the hosts of, and the boys were happy. They were content. And they weren’t boys anymore so much as they were men, able to withstand the comments and the teasing and the judgement in the eyes of people that would never go away.”

I was crying by now, because Phil had reminded me of how much and why I loved him even more than he usually did, which was usually enough to make my eyes water anyway.

“And then they decided to write a book. Together. Because those features mentioned earlier? They never had stopped intertwining. They grew like vines around each other, to the point where if you tried to separate them, both would come crashing to the ground. The book was a symbol of that bond, a tangible thing that held all their secrets in those glossy, colourful pages, and was a physical representation of that fact that they would never be able to separate one from the other.”  
Phil stopped, sniffed, and continued, his voice changing again, as if he had to hold back the emotion he was really feeling in order to finish the story.

“And the boys finally decided to stop trying to hide from the public. They made silly comments on Twitter and Tumblr and made videos of the things they unashamedly loved, and their fans went crazy. And if you saw the boys now, you couldn’t deny the love in their eyes for one another. They couldn’t even deny it, so they stopped trying, preparing for the tour they were going on together and wondering how they both got this far, with just the help of consistent messaging and a random camera in a cereal box. Some may think it was the lamest love story to ever be written, but there were at least a total of somewhere near nine million people who continued that story in their own colorful, creative ways. And the boys loved it, as they did each other, because love is a bond that, no matter how lame, would always be theirs.”

I hugged Phil, peppering his chest with kisses and laughing around my tears. “Is that the end?”  
I looked up to see Phil crying softly as well, shaking his head no. He had to take a moment before answering me, swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat.

“There isn’t an end. We’re still going.”

I smiled, snuggling closer to him and closing my eyes.

“Are you able to sleep now?”

I nodded, and Phil laughed, and I thanked whatever luck and fate I had that Phil Lester had ended up in my life. I never wanted there to be an end to our story; it was pretty damn good so far, if you asked me.


End file.
